In the beautiful, the magical story of "The Vigils of the Dead," in the mediaeval "Miracles of Our Lady," we meet a most devout and pious damsel, whose views are precisely those of Criseyde. No modern novelist could treat the struggle of Criseyde with her passion more psychologically and more delicately, and none so charmingly as Chaucer has done.
We all see Criseyde, so young, gay, and winning, with the eyes of Troilus; and Troilus, brave, gentle, courteous, and modest, with the eyes of Criseyde. She, learning his love from Pandarus, and deeply pitying him, sees him ride past from the battle, his helmet hewn, his shield shattered with sword strokes, the people welcoming him, and her love outruns her pity. It must be confessed that the manœuvres of Pandarus are told at very great length. The poet has all our sympathy when he cries:—
But flee we now prolixitee best is,
For love of God; and lat us faste go
Right to th' effect.
When he does come to the point it is in a scene where delicacy tempers passion.
Considered alle thinges as they stode,
No wonder is, sin she dide al for gode,
trapped by Pandarus, and yielding to love and pity. Assuredly Criseyde seemed so true a lover that, like Queen Guinevere, she should have "made a good end". But as she must pass to her father in the Greek camp, being exchanged for Antenor, the end came which all the world knows, and which she foreknew.
Allas, of me, unto the worldes ende,
Shal neither been y-writen nor y-songe
No good word, for thise bokes wol me shende.
O, rolled shal I been on many a tonge!
Destiny and Diomede prevailed, but Chaucer speaks of false Criseyde as tenderly and chivalrously as Homer speaks of Helen.
Ne me ne list this sely womman chyde
Ferther than the story wol devyse.
Hir name, alias! is publisshed so wyde,
That, for hir gilt it oughte y-now suffyse.